Pregnant By Mr Wrong

Dear Aunt Bossy,

It’s no secret that my world turned upside down when I learned an impulsive night of passion left me pregnant. And the dad? He’s the devil-may-care brother of my former fiancé. He’s a heartbreaker of a man who swept me off my feet—again—before he learned I was in the family way. But our romantic reunion might not have been as unplanned as I thought.

Aunt Bossy, I don’t want a man who’s with me just because he feels it’s his duty. I want him to be as smitten with me as he is with the idea of becoming a father. As head over heels with me as I am with him...

“It’s a vanilla milk shake.”

“You made me a milk shake?” She couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice as she reached out to take it from him, careful not to let their fingers touch in the exchange.

He cocked his head to one side and smiled that toe- curling grin. “Well, you said you didn’t want coffee. I couldn’t find the ingredients for hot chocolate and you don’t like tea, but of course you had ice cream.”

“You remembered I don’t like tea?” The surprises just kept coming.

He nodded, his gaze trained on hers. “Of course. We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends remember each other’s likes and dislikes.”

She swallowed. Friends? Was that what they were? Friends with benefits? Friends who accidentally made a mistake and slept together? Friends who just happened to have conceived a baby?

* * *

The Mckinnels of Jewell Rock: There’s no formula for finding true love!

Pregnant by Mr Wrong

Rachael Johns

www.millsandboon.co.uk

RACHAEL JOHNS is an English teacher by trade, a mum 24/7, a chronic arachnophobe and a writer the rest of the time. She rarely sleeps and never irons. A lover of romance and women’s fiction, Rachael loves nothing more than sitting in bed with her laptop and electric blanket and imagining her own stories. Rachael has finaled in a num­ber of competitions, including the Australian Romance Readers Awards—Jilted, her first rural romance, won Favourite Contemporary Romance in 2012. She was voted in the top ten of Booktopia’s Australia’s Favourite Author poll in 2013. Rachael lives in the West Australian hills with her hyperactive husband, three mostly gorgeous heroes in training, two fat cats, a cantankerous bird and a very badly behaved dog. Rachael loves to hear from readers and can be contacted via her website, www.rachaeljohns.com. She is also on Facebook and Twitter.

To Scarlet Wilson, Helen Lacey,

Fiona Lowe, Melissa James and Leah Ashton for holding my hand as I wrote this book! Love you all for all your various help.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

As Bailey Sawyer stepped into the warehouse at McKinnel’s Distillery, goose bumps painted her arms and her stomach twisted as if doing some elaborate macramé. She glanced around the quiet space, looking and listening for signs of Quinn.

This had always been her favorite part of the distillery. Its walls were lined with new American oak barrels, stacked up one on top of another, almost up to the high ceiling, and there were rows upon rows of barrels down the middle as well, all printed with the famous McKinnel’s logo on the end. The thick wooden floorboards almost matched the color of the barrels and the scent of whiskey at various stages of the aging process blended together in the air.

She inhaled deeply, experiencing a heady rush as memories of this place washed over her. She’d been coming to the distillery for as long as she could remember. McKinnel’s Distillery, a local institution, had become famous for creating one of America’s best boutique whiskeys long before boutique distilleries, breweries and wineries were all the rage. As a child and teenager, she’d hung out here because her mother was best friends with Nora McKinnel. Bailey and the seven McKinnel kids had spent many a day running rampant through the warehouse, chasing each other, playing hide-and-go-seek, making mischief and memories. It had been better than a playground.

For the past five years, she’d been a regular guest due to the fact she’d been dating and then (briefly) engaged to Nora’s oldest son, Callum. Their moms had been ecstatic about the union, then dumbfounded and devastated when Bailey had ended it a couple of weeks ago.

But they didn’t know the half of it.

The macramé in her stomach tightened as she stepped farther into the building, her knee-high boots echoing as they struck the floor. Today, the familiar scent and the innocent childhood memories didn’t calm her. Instead, guilt warred with desire as she called out “Quinn” (before she lost her nerve) and remembered the last time she was in here with him. Although it was late November, the day after Thanksgiving, and the air in here was even cooler than the temperature outside, her whole body, from her fingernails right down to her tippy-toes, heated at the recollection.